Chapter 4 the star over the forest

Once, when François, the tall, well-dressed waiter, bent over the shoulders of the pretty Polish countess Ostrovska to set the table, a strange thing happened.The thing lasted only a second, and there was no trembling or panic, nothing moved.But this is a second of joy and trembling for thousands of hours and days, just like those tall rustling oak trees, with their swaying branches and swinging crowns, all their majestic momentum is safely and securely. Encased in a grain of pollen flying around.There was not a hint of it on the outside for a second.The countess was looking for food with the knife in her hand, and François, the shrewd waiter of the Riviera Hotel, stooped quickly to set the plate a little better.At this very moment, his face was pressed against her loose, fragrant curly hair, and he instinctively opened his drooping eyes humbly, and his fascinated eyes glimpsed her in the black hair The soft pink and white lines of the fair neck stretched down and disappeared into the bulging crimson clothes.It was as if a purple flame suddenly rose in his heart.The knife made a faint sound as it hit the imperceptibly trembling plate.Although for a second he foresaw the serious consequences of this sudden intoxication, he deftly controlled his agitation and continued to serve the countess with the somewhat fawning enthusiasm of a handsome young waiter.With a calm step, he brought the plate to the nobleman who often dined with the countess.The aristocrat, who was slightly older than her, had a gentle demeanor, and was talking about insignificant things in French, which was extremely standard and clear, and his voice was like crystal.After delivering the plates, the young waiter stepped back from the table without looking away and with a blank expression on his face.

Those few seconds were the beginning of a strange, ecstasy-filled loss, an intoxicated, ecstatic feeling that even the solemn and proud word love cannot express.It is that blindly loyal, desireless love which is found only in the very young and the very old, and which is beyond the reach of a man in his lifetime.It is a love that is not thought about, it is not thought about, it is just a dream.He had completely forgotten that unjust but ineradicable contempt which even a smart, smart man shows a waiter in a waiter's dress.He does not consider all kinds of possibilities and chances, but cultivates this strange feeling in his blood, until his secret attachment ignores all kinds of ridicule and blame, and his tenderness is not expressed in blinking and peeping It is not manifested in the presumptuous behavior when suddenly bold and reckless, not in the longing lips and trembling hands when the heart flutters and loses self-control, this tenderness is manifested in silently serving and doing all kinds of small services At work, knowing that these small things will not be noticed, so humility is more noble and sacred.After dinner, he smoothed the wrinkles of the tablecloth in front of her seat with such gentle and lingering fingers, just like touching the hands of a lovely and gentle woman.He poured all his affection into arranging everything around her very symmetrically, as if he was waiting for her to come to the banquet.He carefully carried the wine glasses that her lips had touched into his small, musty room with a skylight, and let them shine like precious jewelry in the bright moonlight.He often secretly eavesdropped on her walking or strolling in a corner.He sucked on her words as one gleefully tastes with one's tongue a delicious and intoxicating wine, grasping greedily at every word and command, as children grasp at flying balls.Thus his drunken soul brought into his poor, insignificant life a beam of kaleidoscopic and colorful splendor.François, a poor man, fell in love with a foreign countess who could never be reached, and the ins and outs of this matter never entered his mind to do such a clever folly: to express it in cold and destructive language. Express it in its original form.Because he didn't think she was a real person at all, but felt that she was something very high and far away, and what got here was only the reflection of her life.He likes her domineering arrogance when she gives orders, likes the domineering corners of her two Qingdai eyebrows that almost touch each other, likes the dense wrinkles around her thin lips, likes the confidence and elegance of her speech and demeanor.It was a matter of course for him to show groveling, and he found it blissful to be able to humbly do some menial work of service beside her, for it was through her that he could enter the enchanted world that surrounded her. circle.

In this way, a dream suddenly appeared in the life of an ordinary person, like a precious flower and tree carefully cultivated by the side of the road. Its buds were all trampled by bustling pedestrians in the past, but now it is in full bloom.It was the obsession of a simple man, a soul-stirring, ecstatic dream in the midst of a grim and monotonous life.The dream of such a man is like a rudderless boat, floating aimlessly on a mirror-like level of water, wobbly and joyously, until it crashes suddenly on the shore of an unknown lake. But reality is harsher and more brutal than all dreams.The fat porter from Vaud passed him one evening and said: "Ostrovska leaves tomorrow by the eight o'clock train." Then he said several other insignificant names, which he never heard .Because after hearing the previous sentence, there was a "hum" in his mind, like a river and an ocean, rolling up waves of turbulent waves.Several times he mechanically stroked his tightly locked forehead with his fingers, as if trying to get rid of the layer of things that were pressed there and tightly bound his intelligence.He took a few steps, staggering under his feet.Restless and frightened, he walked quickly past a large mirror with a gold frame. A pale, unfamiliar face in the mirror looked at him blankly, as if he had no thoughts at all, as if everything was imprisoned in a dark and hazy place. behind the wall.Almost subconsciously, he held on to the railing, groped down the wide steps, and entered the twilight garden, where a few tall umbrella pine trees stood lonely, like dark thoughts.His wobbly figure was like a big black night bird flying low and low, and he staggered forward a few more steps, and then fell down on a bench, with his head leaning against the cold armrest.There was silence all around.Behind, the sea glistened among clusters of round bushes.The soft, vibrating lights flickered there, and in this quiet night, only the rolling waves in the distance sang monotonously and continuously.

All of a sudden, everything is clear, totally clear.It was so clear, and so bitter, that he almost smiled.It's all over.Countess Ostrovska was going home, and François the waiter was still at his work.Is this really that strange?Haven't all the guests who came here for two or three weeks or three or four weeks gone?What a fool not to even think of that!Everything is so clear that it makes people laugh and cry.All kinds of thoughts are messy, like a mess.Tomorrow evening, take the eight o'clock train to Warsaw.To Warsaw—that would take many hours, through many forests and valleys, over hills and mountains, over many meadows and rivers and noisy cities.Warsaw!How far away Warsaw!He couldn't imagine it at all, but deep down he felt the proud and menacing, stern and distant word: Warsaw.And he...

In an instant, dots of dreamlike light of hope rose in his heart.Yes, he can follow along.There he can be a servant, a scribe, a coachman, a slave, a beggar, standing trembling in the streets of Warsaw, as long as he is not so far away, as long as he can breathe the breath of the same city, maybe sometimes she rides You can see her as you drive by - though only her silhouette, her clothes and her black hair.So all kinds of things flashed in a hurry.But time is cruel and merciless.It was absolutely impossible, and he saw that clearly.He counted his savings, at most one or two hundred francs.This amount of money is not even half of the travel expenses.What to do next?Suddenly, as if through a torn veil, he saw his life and felt how pitiful it was now, how pathetic.A lonely and empty life as a waiter has been tortured by foolish desires, and his future may be so ridiculous.A shudder ran through him.Suddenly all the chains of thought came together inexorably.Now there is only one possibility——

The treetops swayed gently in an imperceptible breeze.The gloomy night before him was chilling.At this moment, without haste, he stood up from his chair calmly, stepped on the rattling gravel, and entered the brightly lit and silent building.When he reached her window, he stopped.The windows were dark, without a single flickering light to kindle dreamy yearning.So the beating of his blood was very calm, and he stepped forward like a man who was no longer confused and deceived.When he got to the room, he lay down on the bed without any agitation, and fell into a deep sleep, without dreaming all night, until the bell woke him up the next morning.

The next day he kept his behavior within well-thought-out limits and forcibly collected himself.He went about his service with cold indifference, with a carefree self-confidence in his air, and no one could sense the bitter determination behind this false mask.Before dinner, he took his little savings to the most prestigious flower shop and bought carefully selected flowers. The colors of the flowers were colorful, which just showed his heart: golden red in full bloom. Tulips symbolize passion, long-petalled white chrysanthemums make people feel like a faint dream full of exoticism, narrow orchids represent the longing for a beautiful image, and there are a few reserved and charming roses.Then he bought a vase made of shiny opal glass.The few francs he had left he gave to a beggar with the utmost swiftness and indifference as he passed him.Then he hurried back.In a melancholy mood, he solemnly placed the vase with flowers in front of the tableware that he had slowly and meticulously prepared for the countess for the last time with physical pleasure.

Then dinner began.When he worked, it was still the same as usual: cold, silent, quick-eyed, and never looked up.It was only at the end that he stared at her whole soft and proud body with an endless gaze that she never knew.Never, he felt, had she been so beautiful as she had appeared in his last, wanting gaze.Then he calmly stepped back from the table and left the restaurant without saying goodbye, with a blank expression on his face.Like a guest deserving of a waiter's bow, he passed through the aisle, down the imposing reception steps, and down the street.You must feel that at this moment he said goodbye, he hesitated for a second when he passed the hotel door, and then he turned to a tree-lined avenue along the shining villas and large gardens, wandering thoughtfully Moving forward, I don't know where I'm going.

He just walked aimlessly with a dream-like sense of loss until night.He didn't think about anything anymore, not about the past, not about the inevitable.He no longer thought of death, as one raises a gleaming, dreadful pistol at the last moment, examines it with deep eyes, weighs it in his hand, and then puts it down again.He had already passed judgment on himself.It's just that all kinds of pictures still come one after another, emerge in a hurry, and then fly away, like migrating swallows.First the years of youth, until a bad class.In this class, he was bewitched by the attractive prospect, did a stupid thing, and thus plunged headlong into the chaotic world.Then there was the endless running, trying to earn a living, his attempts rebuffed again and again, until the black wave one calls fate shattered his pride and left him in a On the humble post.Many colorful memories rolled up one after another and then disappeared.In the end, images of the past few days still gleamed from the lucid dreams, but they knocked open the dark door of reality through which he had to pass.He thought, it would be better to die today.

He pondered for a moment, considering the various paths to death, comparing their pain with their swiftness.Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, which made him shudder.He looked depressed, and suddenly thought of a gloomy idea: Since she flew past his fate and ruined his fate without knowing it, then let her crush his body as well.Let her do it herself.Ask her to finish her work herself.In this way, the idea was formed quickly and without hesitation.In less than an hour, the express train left at eight o'clock, and it was going to snatch her from him.He would throw himself under the wheels of the train and be crushed to pieces by the same violent force that took the girl of his dreams.He wants to let his blood flow at her feet.Such thoughts came one after another, as if they were cheering each other.He also knew the place where he died for love.All the way up on the wooded hillside, just above the rustling treetops blocking the bird's-eye view of the nearby bay.He stepped out and looked at his watch, the second hand was almost beating the same beat as his beating heart.It's time to move.Suddenly, his weak footsteps became flexible and unwavering, and a resolute and hasty rhythm emerged. As he walked forward, every dream was stifled.In the southern evening, the twilight was colorful, and he ran restlessly towards the place where a purple band was embedded in the sky between the forested hills in the distance.He ran forward hastily, and when he got there, two silver threads flashed before him, guiding him.The rails lead him up, winding through deep, fragrant ravines, where the pale moonlight through the shadowy veil that hangs over the valleys, silvers the world; superior.From there, the vast black ocean can be seen in the distance, glistening in the light of the beach.At last he saw the deep, restlessly rustling forest, the railroad tracks stretching in its shadow.

Panting heavily, he stood on the dark forest slope.It was already late at this time, and the surrounding trees were next to each other, dark and chilling.Only high up, in the twilight of the canopy, is there a pale and quivering moonlight between the branches, which groan when the evening wind blows.Sometimes, amidst the sombre stillness, there was the distant cry of a night bird.In this palpitating loneliness, his thoughts froze.He just waited, waited, watching for a red light for a train at the first steep S-curve bend.Sometimes he looked at his watch restlessly, counting the seconds.Then he concentrated on listening to the distant whistle of the locomotive.But this is an illusion.Everything became silent again.Time seemed to freeze. Finally, the lights under the mountain in the distance shone.At this moment, he felt a bump in his heart, but he didn't know whether it was fear or joy.He suddenly threw himself on the rails.At first, for a moment, he felt only the pleasant coolness of the rails on his temples, and then he listened intently.The train is still far away.It will take about a few minutes to get here.Nothing could be heard but the rustling of the trees in the wind.All kinds of thoughts flooded into my mind.Suddenly, there was a thought that couldn't be dismissed, like a sharp sword piercing through the heart, and the pain was unspeakable: he died for her, but she never knew it.His life stirred up turbulent waves, but not even a tiny bubble touched the waves of her life.She will never know that a life she has never met before has been attached to her and has made a fool of her. From a distance in the still air came the faint panting of the locomotive as it climbed the hill rhythmically.But his thoughts were still burning, and their momentum was still undiminished, and they were still tormenting this dying man in the last few minutes.The rumbling train was getting closer.Then he opened his eyes again.The blue-black sky above him was silent, and several tree crowns rustled.There is a shining white star above the forest.A lone star over the forest... the rails on which his head was resting began to vibrate slightly and sing softly.But those thoughts were like fire in his heart, burning in his eyes, which were full of all the ardor and despair of his love.All the longing and the last painful question poured out into the shining white star looking down on him tenderly.The dying man once again embraced with his last, unspeakable eyes the shining star, the star above the forest.Then he closed his eyes.The track trembled and swayed, the speeding train rumbled closer and closer, and the forest also rumbled non-stop, as if countless giant bells were ringing.The ground seemed to be shaking.There was a deafening whistling like the wind and lightning, and there was a burst of bang with a whoosh, followed by a harsh "woo-cheep--" sound, which was the beast-like scream from the siren and the train did not stop. shrill moaning... The beautiful Countess Ostrovska had booked a box.She had been reading a French novel while driving, and the jolts of the train made her shake slightly.The air in the cramped space was stuffy, filled with the choking fragrance of many withering flowers.The clusters of white lilac flowers in the luxurious flower basket sent by others at the time of parting are like ripe fruits, wearily drooping their heads, the flowers leaning softly on the stems, and the heavy and wide rose calyxes are in this intoxicating hot cloud of fragrance Like withering.The suffocating heat warmed the waves of heavy aromas, causing them to float lazily even as the train whizzed by. Suddenly, the book fell from her weak fingers.She herself didn't know why.It was a secret emotion that made her let go.She felt a drowsy oppression of pain.Suddenly, a burst of unreasonable and heart-wrenching pain hit my heart tightly.She thought she must suffocate in this sultry, dizzying scent of flowers.The dreadful agony was still there, and she felt every jolt of the galloping wheels, the rumble of the unthinking roll onwards tormenting her.Suddenly, a longing rose in her heart, to stop the speeding train, to pull back the train that was speeding towards unreasonable pain.Never in her life had she felt so gripped by unreasonable pain and inexplicable terror, be it something dreadful, unseen, or cruel, as in those few seconds. I have never experienced the kind of fear like this moment.This indescribable feeling is getting stronger and stronger, and the throat is getting tighter and tighter.If only the train would stop, she moaned the thought in her mind like a prayer. At this moment, a sharp siren sounded suddenly, the locomotive screamed wildly as a warning, and the brakes squeaked and groaned miserably.The spinning wheels slowed down, and got slower and slower, and then stopped with a creak and a clang... She dragged her clumsy steps and fumbled her way to the window to breathe the cool air.The glass of the window ping pong pong fell, and there was a figure running outside... A few voices said a few words quickly: One committed suicide... crushed under a wheel... dead... in the wild... She was terrified.She instinctively fixed her eyes on the high, silent sky, and the dark, rustling trees beyond.Above the trees is a lone star over the forest.She felt that the star's gaze was like a crystal teardrop.Gazing at the star, she suddenly felt a sadness she had never felt before.It was a grief full of passion and longing, such as she had never experienced in her life... The train began to move slowly.Leaning on a corner, she felt tears trickle down her cheeks.The unreasonable fear subsided, but there was still a deep and strange pain, and she tried to think of the trace of this pain, but could not find it.She was full of pain, the pain that a child feels when he wakes up suddenly in the dark of night and feels so alone...

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